Letter writing.

A quaint old tradition. 

I have one friend from school who has not dabbled in the 'Interweb' at all.  He insists on writing letters and I must admit there is nothing like finding that little jewel amongst the drab brown envelopes scattered on the mat.

I can type quicker than I can write, so I have found that my handwriting has deteriorated somewhat... especially when balancing the pad on my knee with one eye on the TV and one hand holding a cuppa, all whilst trying to help G9 with her gwaith cartref Cymraig.  (Hmmm perhaps that's why she doesn't get 10 out of 10).

I can barely understand what I have written myself when reading my letter back, goodness knows how anyone else can.  But still, it's more personal somehow than the typed page.

The only other time I hand write in earnest is on Christmas cards.  For those I see regularly I don't pen much except for the usual salutations*, but for those I rarely see it's a chance to catch up.  So I carefully write little messages in each card for my distant friends and family, all individually scripted.  It makes my arm and hand ache, but every year I do it, just to get those little gems back.  It's like Facebook but hand made.

I have a box of old love letters and cards, hand written by someone who died when just starting out in life.  Although I look at them rarely, when I do I feel connected somehow - they have more resonance than a typed page could ever have.

Writing this blog has made me feel a little guilty as it reminds me I have a pen friend I still owe a letter to, its been months and months.  Somehow life keeps getting in the way.  It's back on the top of my things to do for this weekend.

*Addendum: I never understand why people have photographs on their walls of relatives they live with, after all they see them every day.